


Battered and Wrecked, I Come to You, You First-

by Darker_Side



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), Cum Eating, Cum feeding, Frottage, M/M, Memory Flashback, Post-Avengers Shawarma Scene: Edit, Post-Battle of New York (Marvel), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Spit As Lube, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, WW2 era Bucky Barnes, minor character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25971934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darker_Side/pseuds/Darker_Side
Summary: They all went for Shawarma, except Steve.Steve wandered away from the rest of the team, waving them off when they tried to stop him. The rest of them may be used to the idea of aliens materializing through portals in the atmosphere, but he wasn’t.He needed time to process. Everything. He needed a shower. He needed water. He needed underseasoned steak and potatoes, not fucking Shawarma. He needed someone who could understand. He needed Bucky.--Steve decides to go somewhere else after the Battle of New York
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	Battered and Wrecked, I Come to You, You First-

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _The Odyssey_ , by Homer
> 
> Just something I couldn’t get off of my mind after finding the quote used for the title. Like everything else I do, it’s un-beta’d. If you want, you can let me know of some major mistakes. Enjoy…? Enjoy. Yeah. haha.

They all went for Shawarma, except Steve.

Steve wandered away from the rest of the team, waving them off when they tried to stop him. The rest of them may be used to the idea of aliens materializing through portals in the atmosphere, but he wasn’t. 

He needed time to process.  _ Everything _ . He needed a shower. He needed water. He needed underseasoned steak and potatoes, not fucking Shawarma. He  _ needed _ someone who could understand. He needed Bucky. 

Limping in his half-jog, carrying the shield in loose fingers, he fought the taste of bile in the back of his throat down, the metallic tang of blood a poor replacement flavor. He couldn’t afford to puke; he wasn’t sure if he’d like what he saw come out of himself. Surely it wouldn’t be good, but his body would right itself out. It was almost  _ too _ good at doing it. He was headed towards Cypress Hills in Brooklyn, roughly 11 miles (17.8 km) from where he was. It would take the average person close to three and a half hours to walk there; even in his less that ideal condition, he could make it in half the time. 

There were a few people out and about, far fewer than would be if aliens hadn’t been trying to tear apart the city, but no one seemed too interested in where he was going. The only thing that mattered was that they were no longer under attack. That they were safe. He didn’t mind, he really wasn’t up for conversation with them, either. 

By the time he made it to Cypress Hills, the sun was low in the sky, his breathing was labored, and the pang in his side hadn’t gotten any better. He could feel the dirt and grime on his skin, chaffing in his suit, sweat and blood drying, making things sticky. He was a mess, he knew that, and he probably should have showered first, at least changed, but he couldn’t find the strength to do anything other than go to Bucky. 

In his exhaustion, it was almost hard to miss the changes to his city, not that it mattered, anyway. Time had gone by, things had changed. She just  _ had _ to accept it. Simple as that. LIke it could ever  _ be  _ as simple as that. If it were that simple, he’d be a whole hell of a happier person. Maybe he would have listened to that old man (and  _ god, _ he was technically older than  _ him _ ) at the café, asked for that girl’s number, instead of beating the inanimate life out of half a dozen punching bags. Maybe Fury wouldn’t have found him, wouldn’t have asked for more of his life. Maybe having someone to come home to would have given him a reason to say he had given enough, even if most of it had been spent buried in arctic ice. His overbearing thoughts got him through the rest of the mundane journey, let him forget how bad his body hurt until he got where he wanted to go. 

The grass sounded soft beneath his heavy boots, the air not as oppressive outside of Manhattan. He found Bucky where he knew he’d find him, and he tried to muster a smile, even when his split lip protested the action. 

_ “You look like shit, _ ” Bucky quipped, and Steve could feel the weight of those grey eyes on him, the way they would be full of concern and unsaid pride. 

“I know, this blue is  _ way _ off,” he replied, motioning at his tattered uniform, at how the blue was nauseatingly vibrant and not the deep royal blue of his one from the War. It got a laugh out of Bucky, so he took it as a win. “I’m fine,” he added, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to skirt around the unacknowledged worry. “Better now.”

_ “I don’t see why,” _ Bucky said, looking around at their surroundings, looking at the expanse of nothing. 

“Better with you,” Steve corrected, nudging his shoulder into the other’s. He sat down, back against stone, legs out straight on the grass, and Bucky followed suit, much more fluid. He coughed, a slight wheeze was still there, but it was like he could feel himself getting better, could feel his body pulling itself back together. 

“ _ Why aren’t you with the others? _ ” he asked, rousing Steve from unknowingly dozing where he sat.  _ “I’m sure they would be better company” _

“Impossible,” Steve argued, pressing his head more firmly against the stone behind him. "Besides, who else is going to call me a fucking moron while dabbing at my cuts and scrapes like a mother hen?" He could almost feel the punch to the shoulder that earned him. 

" _ Did you get 'em?"  _ Bucky asked after a long period of silence. Steve had nearly fallen asleep again. 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, opening his eyes and staring off. “At least, I think we did. For now, though, we got ‘em.”

_ “Glad you got to have a win, Steve. _ ” Bucky’s voice sounded quiet.  _ “You got to see this one through.” _

He hadn’t realized he had felt that satisfaction until hearing it in Bucky’s voice. He had told Tony that they had won, and the smile that came after was inevitable. He did need a win. The last war he was in left him without Bucky, and then he didn’t even get to help finish it. Instead, he crashed the Valkyrie into the frozen ocean to save the entire east of the U.S. At least, that’s what all the history books and museums say. A more somber reason just wouldn’t sit well with the American people. Knowing that their Man with a Plan couldn’t bear to win a war without Bucky at his side, to go home with him after, didn’t make for a stars-and-stripes headline. 

" _ Hey, remember that time you punched a tank at that one Hydra base raid?"  _ He was glad that Bucky let him blow over all of that problematic shit. He always knew when to change the subject, and when to barrel through it head-on. Steve wasn’t going to barrel through that one, not with how worn-out he felt.

Steve laughed, wincing as a cracked rib shifted. "Yeah, well it pissed me off. That howitzer it shot-off got too close to the tree you were sniping from." 

The tone shifted, and when he heard Bucky's voice, it was more reserved. Serious.  _ "Then it shot you. And ran you over. Remember that, smartass? I had to see all of that from my position, and I couldn’t do anything but watch." _

“I remember that night more,” Steve answered, his jaw clenching at the memory, his cock, and somehow  _ that _ even felt exhausted, twitched in response. 

Bucky huffed, but Steve could hear how much the memory affected him, too.  _ “Yeah, you would only remember that, you pervert. Your priorities are always where they shouldn’t be.” _

“My priorities are right where they need to be.” Steve let his eyes close, not necessarily to sleep, but to conjure up memories of that night, in the war, after that one Hydra raid, where he and Bucky had their own moment, reprieve, from the horrors around them. It was why he came out there. A reprieve from all the chaos. 

\---

They went back to Steve’s tent after the debrief with Colonel Phillips and Agent Carter, because  _ of course _ Steve had his own tent. It wasn’t what he asked for, nor did he feel like he had earned it. But times like the one he was in made him appreciative of the title he held. The privacy he was afforded, the ability to sneak Bucky into said tent was what made it worth the envious glares from soldiers outside of the Howlies. 

Bucky hadn’t said a word to him, even after throwing open the entrance to the tent with the fortitude of someone trying to rip it down. Steve had sighed, following the other man in with his head down, making the way he had to walk with his sore dislocated-then-relocated patella. The through-and-through bullet holes along his right shoulder and left hip were already healing, but the damage to his uniform, and all the blood, still made the wounds look as bad as they were when it happened. Hence Bucky’s fucking attitude. 

“I know you’ve got this new fucking body and everything, Steve,” he had started, keeping his voice as low as possible while still ensuring Steve knew how mad he was. “But it doesn’t mean you should test out the limits whenever  _ fucking _ possible.” 

“Look, I can do some actual good now,” Steve started his defense, but fell silent when Bucky shook his head, eyes lined in red. 

“Can’t do any of that good dead,  _ Captain _ .” Bucky’s jaw was hard, muscles jumping under his cheeks as he clenched. Steve knew it came from a place of care, but it was hard not to get mad back, to tell him he didn’t understand, because Steve really didn’t understand his side either. He wouldn’t know what to think if Bucky was suddenly larger and harder to injure, could throw a motorcycle across a football field. 

“Is that what this is about?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow, no longer playing the defense, moving to offensive. “The title, the serum… You hate it, don’t you?” They hadn’t talked about it much, other than the off question of if it was permanent, if it had hurt, what he had to do to grow 145 lbs (65.7 kgs) of muscle and 10 inches (25.4 cm) vertical.

Bucky scoffed, incredulous, running a hand through his hair, the other on his cocked hip. Exacerbated. “It has  _ nothing _ to do with how you look and  _ everything _ with how often you do some shit to get yourself killed. It’s like we’re back in Brooklyn and I’m finding your ass in back alleys with guys twice your size, standing back up even with two black eyes.” 

“Nothing to do with how I look?” Steve repeated back, tilting his chin up, eyes steely and hard. “You’ve hardly touched me. No more than the “hey, pal” clap on the shoulder.”

He has the nerve to look sorry for a second, shoulders slumping, head falling down. Steve gives him the time, he can see that Bucky’s working through some sort of answer, whether he’ll like it or not is a different story. “I’m sorry, okay, just, with everything that happened in Azzano, I’ve just been in my own head.”

It was Steve’s turn to feel sorry. Of course Bucky had been having a hard time after Azzano, after Steve found him strapped to a table, muttering his social security number on repeat. “I know, that’s okay. It just… I was worried you didn’t like all of this,” he said, motioning towards himself with a flourish of his hand. “That you missed me small.” 

“It’s never been about that,” Bucky assured him, stepping closer, hand reaching out and hooking around Steve’s tac-belt. “Small or Super Soldier, you’re still my Stevie.” Bucky tilted his head to the side to see Steve’s face, even as Steve blushed and tucked his chin to his chest, biting his lower lip. “Not gonna lie, I’m kinda curious what’s under all that red, white, and blue.”

Steve raised his head at that, eyebrow arched in true Steve fashion. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah,” Bucky growled, and he was pulling Steve towards him by the belt, crashing their mouths together in a first kiss since Bucky left for the war, leaving Steve, and apparently not taking all the stupid with him. 

Steve relaxed into the kiss, the familiarity of it, the homey feel, even though it was new to tilt his head down to kiss Bucky, rather than up and on his toes. They fell in stride, though, like nothing was different, and deep down, it wasn’t. He was still Steve, and Bucky was still Bucky, even though they held the weight of war on their shoulders, the lack of sleep in the purpley blue under their eyes. He sighed into it, opening his mouth with Bucky’s tongue slid across the seam of his lips, wanting entry. He brought his hands up to Bucky’s neck, holding him, cradling beneath his jaw, and he could feel Bucky’s hands working at his tac-belt before it dropped heavily to the ground. 

Bucky searches for the hidden zipper on the front of Steve’s uniform, and once the zip is down, he was pushing at Steve’s elbows, shoving the jacket off his newly broad shoulders, letting that drop to the ground, too. They were in thermals under their uniforms, and Bucky pulled the top out of Steve’s pants, frustrated at the layers, although necessary. Steve tried not to laugh, allowed Bucky to strip him entirely before Bucky stepped back, really took a good look at him. Bucky took it all in, eyes roving over Steve’s chest, his abs, his narrow hips that hadn’t changed, his thick legs, before falling to his cock. 

Steve bit his lip at the attention. The serum enhanced everywhere.  _ Everywhere _ . He could see Bucky’s eyes widen, those pupils dilate, his mouth fucking water. Steve’s arched eyebrow went up even higher as a smile tugged at his lips. If he had any doubts about Bucky’s liking of his new body, those were out the tent flaps, out into the cold where they belonged. Not wanting to wait another second, Bucky started stripping himself, and Steve knelt down to untie his boot, pull them off his feet, with the cold, damp socks, just as Bucky was pushing his pants down past his knees. 

Steve grasped Bucky’s hips in his large hands, squeezing, mouthing at the skin below his navel. Bucky gasped, hips rolling into the sensation, but pulled Steve up before he could get his mouth around Bucky’s cock. Bucky was kissing Steve as soon as he could reach his mouth, and he started walking them towards Steve’s cot. He pushed Steve onto it, the metal of the legs creaking under the sudden weight. Bucky ignored it, crawling over Steve’s lap, legs straddling his hips, his cock resting on top of Steve’s. 

They stared at each other, panting in the small space between them, blue looking up at grey, unblinking. Bucky moved first, lunging down to shove his tongue down Steve’s throat, Steve wrapped his hand around their cocks and squeezed. They groaned into each other, teeth nipping at whatever flesh they came into contact with first. Steve tugged a few times, dry and loose, sighing at the feel of their slits producing drops of precum, not nearly enough to smooth the way. He lifted his hand, pulling away from Bucky’s mouth to spit into his palm. Bucky leaned over, a string of saliva dropping into the pool of spit, joining Steve’s, and they moaned when Steve stroked them tight and wet. 

They stayed like that, kissing and moaning, gasping at a particularly clever twist of Steve’s wrist. Bucky started thrusting his hips to meet Steve’s fist, and Steve thrusted up, lifting his hips off the cot, lifting Bucky in the air. Bucky chuckled, but his eyes darkened at the show of strength, and Steve knew then that he’d never tire of showing him all that he could do with the body he was gifted. 

Bucky buried a hand in Steve’s hair, tugging, pulling a grunt from the blonde, his other hand was palming Steve’s chest, fingers digging into the ample swell of muscle, a handful, even for him. “ _ Fuck, _ this is incredible,” he moaned out, cock twitching against Steve’s in his hand. All Steve could do was nod, claiming the other man’s mouth in a searing kiss, sucking on lips, sucking on tongue, moaning deep into the well of him, making him swallow all the sounds. If anyone heard, he doubted anyone would say anything. People left him alone, seeing him bend the main gun on a tank in half would shut the mouths of any man. 

Steve felt Bucky fuck into his hand, against his dick, harder, rutting widely, and Steve took it in stride. He was able to. Bucky had never been able to put his all into Steve before, and it wasn’t like Steve had the strength to give Bucky anything near the word  _ hard _ . It was different, but it was good, so good, even without being inside of anything other than his own fist. Steve let go of their cocks for a second to spit into his hand again, Bucky whined, but pleaded gratitudes when Steve’s hand wrapped back around them. He was close, Steve could tell, and he couldn’t wait to see all of Bucky’s hot, white cum streak his stomach, his chest, hopefully his chin. 

“Fuck,  _ Steve, _ Yes,” Bucky chanted, voice breathy and sweet, making Steve’s gut curl in want. He needed to see it, he  _ needed _ to feel it. It had been so long, and so many things had changed. “Just like that, I’m gonna,  _ fuck _ , you’re gonna make me cum,” he spouted, short panting breaths between syllables. 

“Do it,” she ordered, pleaded, eyes shifting back and forth rapidly between Bucky’s leaking cock on top of his own and his face, both slack and taut with impending release. Bucky nodded, biting his lip, and the decision was made for Steve; he couldn’t look away from that face even if he tried. He wouldn’t  _ dare _ . Bucky’s mouth fell open and Steve felt the first streak of warmth hit between his pecs, down the midline of his abs. Bucky’s eyes never left his, and Steve had to take a peek at the mess, had to see what it looked like on his much broader, thicker body. It wasn’t disappointing. 

Steve stroked them together until he could feel Bucky’s hips trying to pull away from his touch. He was breathing just as hard as him, his cock still erect and leaking beneath Bucky’s slowly softening one. Bucky sagged down over Steve, kissing him senselessly, thankfully, before sitting back up, more firmly over Steve’s thighs, and taking Steve’s length in hand. 

Steve groaned, eyes rolling back, and he brought his cum-coated hand up to his mouth, sucking the bitter saltiness off of the webbed skin between his thumb and forefinger. It was unmistakably  _ Bucky _ in flavor, and Bucky’s free hand wrapped around the back of Steve’s neck, lifting his head, forcing Steve’s eyes back to the front of his skull, back to grey-swallowed black. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Bucky praised, looking down at Steve’s cock before raking his eyes up his messy torso. “Always have been.” Steve could feel himself blush even more than the aroused flush tinting his pale skin. He could feel his hips stuttering under Bucky’s weight, could feel the muscles in his lower stomach, his thighs, clench with every twisting stroke. The feel of cum, Bucky’s cum, cooling on his skin, made him look down, admire the evidence of that moment on him. Bucky, the ever observant  _ saint _ , let go of Steve’s neck, wiping his fingers through his mess on Steve’s body before feeding it to him.

Steve moaned, lewdly, probably too loudly for their environment, around Bucky’s fingers, sucking it down. The eroticism of it was enough, the way Bucky’s eyes widened, his mouth parted, watching Steve’s performance, was enough to send him over. He came, thick and hot, against himself, spurt after spurt painting his stomach, his chest, his neck, and all he could do was try to breathe and watch Bucky stare down at him like he was the 8th Wonder of the World.

Bucky stroked him until Steve started to giggle, the tell-tale sign of  _ too much _ for him. It was never the post-orgasm torture others described, but the overstimulation felt tickling, made him laugh, made Bucky laugh. It was worth every second of it. He was still panting, releasing the occasional chuckle as Bucky bent down and licked up Steve’s mess, humming around his skin, slurping it up, like it could provide some warm, nutrient-rich snack in the snowy landscape. For all they knew, it was. 

Steve felt his mind coming back from the radio-static buzz as Bucky kissed his way up Steve’s neck, across his jaw, to his lips. They could taste each other in that kiss, tongue, lips, cum. It was all there, it was all  _ home _ . It was all they needed. Eventually, Bucky settled down next to Steve, head on his chest, thigh thrown over Steve’s hips. Steve covered them with the thin blanket, his enhanced heat giving them plenty of warmth. His arm was under Bucky’s neck, tracing his left shoulder, doodling imaginary lines on warm skin, and he could feel the small smile on Bucky’s lips as he fell asleep. Steve sighed, closing his eyes, allowing himself the comfort. Who knew when they’d get another chance?

\--

Steve was woken by a gentle shaking at his shoulder. He startled, jumping and doing his best not to take the head off of whoever was in front of him. Target acquisition was important. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, his focus coming back quickly. The figure of a man in grey coveralls appeared, crouched down, looking at him wide-eyed and tight-lipped. 

“What time is it?” Steve asked, no other question or comment coming to his mind. He could feel a newer sticky mess against his thigh, dried like glue beneath his soft cock. 

“It’s nearly 0500,” the man said, his voice deep and gruff. “I just… I wanted to wake you before someone else found you here, Sir.” The “somebody else” meaning news stations, other cemetery goers interested in taking his picture and selling it off to the highest bidding Breaking News gig. 

“Steve, please,” Steve told him, holding up his hand to shake the other’s as he catalogued his physical status. He felt better, nearly 100%. The serum held up strong to alien damage. Whoopie. 

The man nodded, his lips pressed together. “It didn’t really seem like you needed to be seen here,” he added, and Steve could appreciate that. He could only imagine how the headlines would read: Newly Defrosted Captain America found at Military Cemetery Morning After Alien Battle. No. He wasn’t ready for the world to see where he went when he needed to decompress. To feel something other than confusion and self-loathing.

“Thank you,” Steve croaked, his throat dry and scratchy. The man helped him up form where he had been sitting on the ground, back against a headstone. The man,  _ bless him _ , nodded, thanked him for his service, and walked away. Back to tending to the hundreds of other fallen heroes. Grabbing the shield, Steve looked behind himself at the stone, at Bucky. The words James Buchanan Barnes etched, immortalized, proving his sacrifice. Steve was the only one left alive with the wherewithal that knew there wasn’t a body in the ground. That the casket was empty. The most morbid metaphor for his heart, his soul. 

“Bye, Buck,” he muttered, tears stinging his eyes, and he turned around, walking out of the cemetery without a limp, without a visible scratch. Only dirt and extraterrestrial bodily fluids. 

Still alone. 

Maybe he’d try Shawarma later that day. 

**Author's Note:**

> The cemetery mentioned is the Cypress Hills National Cemetery in Brooklyn, NY. Not sure if it fit for Bucky's military grave to be there, but it worked for the fic... so... *shrug*.
> 
> So... yep. Haha. There it is. Just couldn't get it out of my head.
> 
> I'm desperately waiting the 21st for the first half of Lucifer Season 5 to drop, and working on my Lucifer fics has been hard to focus for... I'm just too exicited XD  
> Finally got a Stucky out there. Steve and I took some detours, but we made it  
> *fist pump*
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Until next time...


End file.
